


Of Duty and Will

by Vermilion_Sunrise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A love that cannot be denied, Baelish is at it again, Dragging him into something he wasn't prepared for, Duty, F/M, Not on her watch, Some major flirtation, Will - Freeform, a secret nobody can know, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-07 09:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Sunrise/pseuds/Vermilion_Sunrise
Summary: A/U, SanSan, post BotB:  Sansa Stark needs to get a message to the Vale, her duty and honor require it. As Sansa's and Sandor Clegane's paths cross after several years apart, an opportunity is taken and feelings emerge. A short story focusing on our two favorite characters in a Westerosi setting, less A/U than I would normally do.





	1. Arrival at Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> I've put this up because Alecto_11 asked for it by name ;-) I was at this point reminded that I had not finished this fic, though I had started it years before. One of my first SanSan works, I hope to write the ending of it by the time I post the chapters I have.

#  **Chapter 1: Arrival at Winterfell**

**Sansa**

Putting quill to parchment had always been easy for Sansa Stark, Her handwriting always the prettiest, her thoughts the most flowery, her words the best choice. Though today, she was writing neither poetry nor song verse. She must choose her words carefully the tone had to be both diplomatic and firm. Above all, her wants had to be clear.

As her quill continued to painfully scratch out her message, she became more aware of the alarm bell ringing through Winterfell. One lone ring over and over again. It meant Jon, the Dragon Queen and their armies were near. He had sent a raven in advance, but had arrived two weeks early. Her heart lightened at the thought that the King’s Road must be clear and the weather conditions fair. Sansa read her message one last time before signing it. She could trust no raven with this, she would need to go to the Vale personally to deliver it. She would need to deal with the consequences on her own, whatever they might be.

The piece of parchment safely rolled up, she stuffed it into her bodice near her left breast. She sighed at the poetic significance of putting it there. This parchment was the key to her heart, ultimately the key to her freedom. With it, she would undo what Lord Baelish had set in motion before she had unceremoniously sentenced him to death. It would be the final step to her complete freedom. Jon wouldn’t be happy though. It could have consequences for his campaign beyond the wall, and it would mean traversing Westeros on her own.  _ ‘He cannot know.’  _ She decided. No one needed to know.

Sansa turned her attentions to the present. Walking out of her study she called her Pages to prepare the rooms for the Lords she knew had traveled with Jon, including Lord Tyrion, her first marriage annulled. They would need fresh clothing, comfortable rooms and a space for their armies. She would need to have some boars butchered for a small feast. Winter was coming after all, they needed to conserve food to survive. Though the Northern Lords had been working hard, training their men and conserving their harvest, a moment of levity would do them all good.

* * *

 

Blue skies and the light heat of the sun kissed Sansa’s face as she waited with Arya, Bran, their Maester and Master of Arms in the courtyard. It set her red hair ablaze, a fiery flash of color in the dreary darkness of the North. She smiled to see her sister break ranks, running to Jon and wrapping her arms around his neck. The last time they had seen one another had been so many years ago, when they had left for King’s Landing with father, and Jon had left for the Wall. All their lives had changed since then, all of them had withstood forces that would see them torn apart, only to be reunited in their home. It was a victory not lost on her.

She took this moment to greet the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen. Daenerys was everything a Targaryen should be. Beautiful, strong, determined. Though she had only glimpsed them a few moments, Sansa could understand why Jon seemed to fancy her. Though nearly the same age as Sansa, she was resoluter and strong, the consequence of a difficult life spent scraping for everything she now owned. Sansa understood more than most what that meant in a man’s world. Could it really be considered a man’s world now, given all the queens that inhabited it?

Jon’s embrace was strong and familiar. It was clear from his words that he was pleased to see the excellent state of the ranks of Winterfell. Sansa had always been a better organizer and administrator than he, this had been clear from a young age. Jon was a fighter, a leader that inspired green boys to take up their arms and fight for a cause. Both were needed to run the North successfully, though Sansa wondered what kind of a toll time would take on them...given they won against the Army of the Dead.

“My Lady.” Sansa smiled at her former Lord Husband, Tyrion Lannister. He had been good to her in a time when few had. However, as she looked at him now, she still could not love him. It had nothing to do with his stature or his looks, what might have disgusted her in the past. She felt only respect and kindness towards him, but that was all. She doubted very much that she could find it in her heart to love any man, particularly after what she had suffered at the hands of Ramsay Bolton.

She allowed him a kiss to her hand, then bent down to speak with Tyrion more privately. “I’ve stocked your room with books and candles, my Lord. Should you need any further...company,” she paused a moment to find the words, “simply ask the handmaids and they will find what you need.” Tyrion smiled at this. It was the least she could do for having treated him so poorly. It was long ago yes, but she wanted to make clear that she had changed. That the stupid things she had done to him in the past were just that, the stupid actions of an upset and angry teenaged girl.

A slight bit of commotion drew Sansa’s eye to the crowd of men, soldiers and women that had gathered. A large form was emerging from the sea of people, pushing its way through the tightly packed crowd. As he came forward, his helmet in hand his face now clear to her, Sansa’s mouth went dry as if she’d seen a ghost. She raised her hand, quieting her guards, making sure they stood down. This man was supposed to be dead, everybody in the Seven Kingdoms knew it. She’d pushed him out of her mind, but as his large form made its way to her, she could no longer deny that he was very much alive.

“My Lady.” Sandor Clegane bowed slightly, showing her respect but not fealty.

Sansa was dumbstruck. Both Arya and Brienne had confirmed he was dead, that he had died near the Vale in single combat. Yet here he was, towering, strong and still very much alive. Sansa’s eyes looked him over, she knew his armor more intimately than most. They had spent so much time together in King’s Landing after all, they had been through so much together. He was a herald of her past, reminding her of where she had come from and what drove her now. He was a devil, having run down the butcher’s boy because of her mislead silence. He was an angel, covering her with his cloak to protect her modesty from the court, and offering her escape during the Battle of the Blackwater. Sandor Clegane stirred up a whirlwind of emotions in Sansa that she had pushed out of her mind, tried to expel from her person. The sight of him made her breath hitch, her heart race, and her belly warm.

Clearly her silence had been unbearably long, as Arya jabbed her with her elbow bringing Sansa back to reality. “Ser Clegane it’s…” she started.

“I am no Ser, you know that.” Came his gruff voice, only loud enough for her and Arya to hear.

Sansa inhaled, silently berating herself for forgetting. “Yes indeed.” She said. “It’s good to see you amongst the living.”

The Hound snorted at her empty words, gave a quick conciliatory nod to Arya and returned to the crowd from which he came.

Life turned back to normal then, as people went on with their preparations for the war to come and the evening feast. Sansa took a moment to try to find him in the crowd of people, animals and armor, to look upon him once more. He had disappeared, melted into the rustic background of Winterfell. Of all the people she has expected to see that day, he had not been one of them. It had been several years since she had looked upon his scarred, disfigured face. She realized only now how much it mirrored him. It mirrored what he was, and what he was trained to be. Something about him had changed, to think of it plainly he was a dog without a master. Did that make him a wolf? She pondered that thought while she continued her duties for the feast this evening.


	2. An Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa needs help if she is going to deliver her message. Sandor seems to be the only one capable of taking her safely to the Vale.

#  **Chapter 2: An Agreement**

**Sandor**

Had there been a way to abort the thought that had made him walk up to Sansa only moments before, Sandor Clegane would have done it before it reached his legs. He shook his head with absolute self aimed disgust as he walked his black stallion Stranger toward the barn. He’d wanted to see her, he’d wanted to see with his own eyes if the idol chatter of washmaids, whores and bards had been true. That the Lady of Winterfell was as beautiful as she was strong, that she exacted justice in the Northern way, immediate and without remorse.

While he could not judge her on the last part of that saying, the first part had most certainly rang true. Sansa had always been a pretty girl, even in a place like King’s Landing where pretty girls were a dime a dozen. She had been coveted not only for her title and her name, but also for the shear egotistical pride it would bring all those little pricked lordlings to have a ravishing redhead at their sides. He’d hated the lot of them for that, for what they said about her behind her back. Sandor had always felt his time with the girl had brought him an insight into her that few cared to have. Both she and he had shared a rage and a distaste for the Lannisters whilst in the capital. He would have shared so much more with her, had they not both been prisoners to their oaths and duties. Sandor could see clearly now how her youth, insecurities and sadness had taken both an inner and outer beauty from her that she had now laid claim to. She was a wolf in her natural habitat, answering to no one but her pack. She carried a silent strength with her that cried out to him.

Sandor felt a twitch between his legs and was very happy he had chosen to keep his armor on. If just the sight of her was enough to bring back these emotions and physical desires, he didn’t dare entertain the notion of getting any closer to her. Close enough to feel her heat and to smell her would destroy him. She was his weakness, the only thing other than fire that made him tremble. Bringing Stranger into the barn, he thought back to the night he had offered to take her away from King’s Landing. The night she had rejected him, turned him more to drink and sealed her own harrowing fate. He’d been angry at her for so long, had felt so betrayed. After seeing her today, seeing her grown into a true Lady, how could he harbor a hatred for her now? What didn’t kill you made you stronger. She had turned her lot in life into something she would carry with pride for the rest of her days. Had she gone with him, she might never have bloomed into what he saw now.

Cursing under his breath at his continued erection, Sandor found a clean stall in the barn for himself and another for Stranger. He would not stay in the barracks with the other soldiers. They were worse than a bunch of bloody women they way that chatted on and stared, particularly at him. If they were going to stay in Winterfell a bit, rest and strengthen up before marching further north, he would need silence. He relieved himself of his armor and glared at his cock until it began to retreat to a more reasonable size. Sandor had neither fucked nor fought in a long while. Moving with an army was boring, the fights were few and far between and road whores were toothless and underfed.

Sandor would have to save the fucking for the night, now he would see to it that his armor was repaired and his clothes cleaned. Then he would look for the training yard, and hope to find some good sparring partners there. A good fight, some sweat and some blood would get his mind off of Sansa Stark.

* * *

The song of steel on steel rang out in the fighting yard, and it made the Hound’s blood flow red and hot through his body. He hadn’t had a good fight in a while, though these boys were mostly green and not yet made their first kill, he was happy for the movement and the distraction. With his armor with the blacksmith and his clothes in the wash, only the hair on his chest and his leather britches protected his body from the blades of the swords. That added to the challenge of course, heightened his senses and made him more aware of his movements. Sandor had already bloodied a few of the boys, taught them the hard way how not to approach an enemy in battle. Now he was on to the more advanced squires.  _ ‘Fucking cunts. Thinking they can fight just because they polish Ser Cock-Sucker’s armor.’  _ he spat, ‘ _ They need to be practicing, they need to train.’ _

“Come on boy,” the Hound goaded his current opponent, “Your Lady Mother teach you how to swing that sword?” The red face of the young man in front of him confirmed his words had made an impact. Sandor enjoyed hurling insults at the gentry, of which he did not count himself. They needed to be knocked down a notch and if battle was anything, it was equalizing.

The young squire before him was not bad, needed to get his sword bloody, but otherwise good. Their swords met, their brows bore the sweat of their labor and the sun shown down on them. It was not long before the Hound has disarmed the lad, pushing his sword to the young man’s throat, demanding a yield.

A slow long clap rang out through the yard, “Well well Clegane. Didn’t expect to see you after the Battle of the Blackwater. Good to see you aren't afraid to swing a sword, or of your own shadow.”

The voice and the laughter were all too familiar to Sandor, though he could not see his heckler. He didn’t need to, “Ser fucking Willows. Your little cunt still sore after I fucked you at the Tournament of the Hand?” Sandor turned to face him, a grin on his face remembering how he’d embarrassed the knight in single combat. What he hadn’t anticipated was that Sansa was at the man’s side. Her hair blew gently in the wind, her black coat was tight against her body.

Now the context was clear, it took Sandor only a second to know why Willows had gone after him, it was to impress her. To go to the biggest dog in the yard and assert his alpha dominance. Sandor raised to his full height and walked toward the knight. He couldn’t help but notice Sansa’s eyes on him, on his body as he moved.  _ ‘No’  _ he thought, ‘ _ now I’m seeing things.’ _

Ser Willows turned to Sansa, “I must apologize my Lady. The southern Dog doesn’t know how to act in the presence of a proper Lady.” He then moved toward Sandor, “I’ll teach you a lesson about manners Dog.”

Sandor knew Sansa well enough to know she didn’t like being spoken for, but the look on her face confirmed it. Though Ser Willows could not see her face, Sandor could. It was as if she was communicating to him, the way she turned her head slightly the way her eyebrow raised in the direction of Willows with extreme annoyance. It was like she was telling him to kick the knight’s arse.

But then she spoke, “Be on your guard Ser Willows, for it is not a dog I see before you. Rather a perfect specimen of a fighter, with a proper northern chest.” Sandor could see her eyes move over his body starting from his face, down his chest and landing below the waist of his trousers. The Hound wasn’t blind, he knew women liked his body, they spent more time admiring that than his face for sure. If they liked his body, they loved what he had between his legs. Though he could not remember a time when a woman had settled her eyes so overtly on him as Sansa was doing now, he knew she’d be pleased with what she found there.  He breathed deeply pushing out his chest just a bit more and trying to quell the deep sexual urge inside of him.

Willows turned to Sansa bowing and began in a somewhat condescending tone, “What you see my Lady is not always what you get.”

“For fuck’s sake Willows we’re not talking about your bloody cock. Let’s get on with it then!” Came the roar from Sandor Clegane’s barreled chest. Now it was an alpha fight, one he knew Sansa had taken great interest in.

Ser Willows made his way into the training area, leather armor still on and sword drawn. The two men didn’t waste a moment meeting swords. Willows was a young man of average height, beautiful, blond a knight that could have been in one of Sansa’s stories. Their swords continued to cross and Sandor knew that while she had once swooned over men like this, that perhaps her time in King’s Landing had made her wise to how they really were. He knew Willows was a cunt, and he’d teach them a lesson.

“So you want to fuck her that badly you’d pick a fight with me?” Sandor said as he and Willows locked swords particularly close.

The good looking knight only grinned, “Who wouldn’t?” With that he kicked Sandor in the gut pushing him back.

All the Hound could do was laugh. The knight came at him again with more vigor this time, just missing his skin. Sandor had always been much more light on his feet than anticipated, he grinned in the only way he could and moved in quickly, pushing Willows back.

“Don’t you need a cock to fuck her?” Sandor whispered to the knight, igniting an anger that sent the smaller man flying toward him. The Hound parried, dodged and created a distance between them.

Grabbing himself over his britches Sandor turned to Willows, keeping an eye on Sansa as well. “Now this is a cock.” He couldn’t help but notice the slight smile that crossed Sansa’s lips and the laughter that formed behind her eyes. The Hound would embarrass this knight for presuming too much of her attention.

At this Willows charged the Hound. At the last moment Sandor dropped to one knee, his arm out, catching the knight across the stomach and making him fall head over heels forward landing on his back. Sandor made quick work of him, turning the hilt of his sword and smashing it across the fallen knight’s face. The crunch of a broken nose was an all too familiar sound to Sandor, and it gave him immense satisfaction. He held the knight’s throat in his large hand, bringing his disfigured face to the knight’s beautiful one, “Yield.”

Once the joke of a knight had yielded, Sandor stood, stretched his neck a bit and turned to where Sansa had been standing in the yard. She was gone, only the sweet scent of lavender lingered. He spat in the direction of Willows and made his way toward the baths. He’d need a long cold dip in the river to quiet the wild emotions Sansa’s words had released in him.

* * *

It was increasingly hard to keep his eyes off of her. The feast had started out well and it had been easy enough for Sandor to keep his head turned away from the she-wolf at the head table. However, as the night wore on, as the wine continued to flow, and as the wenches got frisky, it was more difficult to draw his gaze away from her. Sandor hated groups of people, unless he was fighting or fucking, otherwise he tried to keep to himself. As the candles melted down and the drunkenness more overt, he became more and more restless. Taking one last gulp of wine he decided to catch some air out by the stable.

It was pitch black outside, save the moon that lit the way so that even a drunk man like him could see the path to the stable clearly. He looked up at the moon and breathed in deeply, Sandor liked the northern air. It was crisp and fresh, it lacked the rancid smell of southern cities, it made a man feel clean and healthy. Breathing deeply he walked toward the stable and was surprised to see a woman’s form there, near the torch light at its entrance. She was reading a parchment in the light and as she pushed back her hood to get a better view of it, Sandor saw the flash of red and knew who it was. Against his better judgment, and with a bit of alcohol induced courage, he moved toward her.

His heavy footfalls were enough to prompt Sansa to put the parchment back into her bodice. Sandor came out of the darkness from behind her as he spoke, “Isn’t it late to be out at night alone little bird? Monsters can be anywhere.”

She paused a moment and turned to him, her blue eyes piercing the darkness. Sansa looked him in the face, not wavering at all from his gaze or his burned face, “Clegane.” She started, remembering his aversion to titles, ”We both know there are no such thing as monsters, just men who act like them.” There was a tension in the air as their eyes searched on another’s. The cloud of alcohol made Sandor distrust his instincts, put him on edge. She continued, “And as we both know, you are certainly not one of them.”

At this the Hound laughed. “You so ready to forgive me for my sins little bird? You finally decided to become a Septa then?”

Sansa’s eyes faltered slightly then she turned a little to look up at the moon, “Is the feast not pleasing to you?”

“Too many people, too much noise. I needed some air.” Sandor said, studying the woman in front of him. She was giving him mixed signals, it was obvious she was conflicted, but who was he to know why? Who was he to even care?

“Then we have something in common.” She paused, leaving an uncomfortable silence between them. Her eyes searched his, looking for a way in. “You’ve been watching me all night, why?”

Her question was direct and it pierced through Sandor’s skin deeper than any sword. In his half drunkenness it hit a nerve. It was an affront to him, a challenge. He growled and moved closer to her, “What’s wrong? A man can’t look at a woman in the North?”

He may have misjudged how intimidating he was as she took a step back, placing her back directly against the wall of the barn, the light shining indirectly on her. He was close to her now, so close he could smell her soap, smell her body. Every part of his being tingled with excitement, with the slow burn of arousal.

“If you are trying to scare me Clegane, it won’t work. As I said, I’ve fought against a real monster, and I won.” She stared him straight in the eye as she said it, there was no fear and no hesitation.

So Sandor did what any warm blooded man, with wine running through his veins, would do when faced with such a situation, he leaned in and kissed her. Her mouth was so warm and so sweet and he explored it with his tongue. His senses were overloaded, the feeling of her mouth, her breasts pushed against his chest - and she didn’t struggle. She didn’t engage him either, but she allowed it. When he finally moved his lips from hers to get a better look at her, his cheek was met with a well placed crack across it.

“Kiss me without my leave again, and I’ll have your sword hand.” She gazed at the big man, daring him to do or say something further.

The Hound held his cheek, opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it. He remembered what he had heard about Littlefinger and Ramsay Bolton, and somehow had the sense through his drunken haze to keep his mouth shut.

“The she-wolf bites.” Was the only safe comment he could make. He caught a glimpse of her satisfied grin before she turned away from him and walked closer to the torch.

“As it is I have need of that sword hand.” Sansa said. Sandor’s mind went to all the dirty things he could do with his sword hand, how much he could please her with it. But of course, it wasn’t that she was referring to.

“I have to ride to the Vale, and I need somebody to escort me there.” She said plainly.

“Can’t your boyfriend do that for ya?” Sandor said, still licking his pride after her slap.

Sansa turned back to him again, somehow knowing he loved looking into her eyes. “I appreciate you putting my Master of Arms in his place. He needed to learn some humility from a stronger, more battle worn man.” She waited to see if he would protest and then continued, “Besides, I need to go in secret, not draw attention.”

“You need me to be your fucking dog.” Sandor blurted out.

“No.” She said, bridging the distance between. She almost seemed offended by his outburst, “I need somebody I can trust.”

Her eyes were pleading now, open and big. It reminded him of the time she had been relieved of her clothes in the court, how she’d looked at him with both admiration and shock as he draped her in his cloak. ‘ _ Oh for fuck’s sake!’  _ he screamed to himself.

“I’ll do it.” Was all that escaped his lips, all the he would allow to escape his lips.

She smiled then, big and broad. Sandor almost melted just at that, his cock throbbing for attention.

“I’ll see you right before sunrise then. No one must know we are leaving, ok?”

He merely nodded, racking his brain as to why he had agreed to escort her there, without knowing the true reasons why. He blamed the alcohol. They began to part ways, she back to the feast, he to the stable. Then her voice stopped him.

“Clegane. We didn’t discuss payment.”

_ ‘Fuck her words!’  _ He thought to himself as his mind went again to all the things he would love to have her pay with, none of them having anything to do with money.

“We’ll discuss it on the way.” He murmured as he walked into the stable. He needed to sleep, he needed to sober up….he needed to get a hold on what he had just gotten himself into.


	3. Sleeping Rough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets into a little more trouble than she had hoped for on the road to the Vale.

#  **Chapter 3:  Sleeping Rough**

**Sansa and Sandor**

Sansa’s black mare flicked her tail nervously as they waited outside the stable for their escort. It had been a cold night, a frost had settled on the ground and the air pierced her lungs as she breathed in. Sansa had packed as little as possible and dressed as plainly as possible in order to make it down the King’s Road with as little issue as possible. Her red hair had been tucked into black kerchief. It marked her a Tully, it marked her a foreigner in these lands and would draw attention. Her other siblings could have walked freely amongst the smallfolk without so much as a second glance, but not her. She stood out.

She put both reigns in her hand and patted her mare on the neck. “Easy girl.” Sansa cooed. “I promised you a big strong stallion, and you will have him.”

As if on cue, Sandor emerged from the stable to find Sansa there waiting for him, the sky beginning to lighten behind her. He’d chosen a light leather armor, something that could pass for a traveling blacksmith instead of his usual heavy suit. It would enable him to ride faster and blend in amongst the travelers. Sandor assessed Sansa’s outfit, black riding pants with scuffed boots, and a modest but heavy cloak with her hair tucked away. He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, she could do all she wanted to cover her hair but she could not hide that face. That face was going to get them into trouble. He had to refocus himself to steady his stallion, Stranger had smelled the mare, and would court her relentlessly until she gave in.  _ ‘Perhaps you can teach me a thing or too old boy.’  _ he thought to himself.

Giving him a nod, Sansa turned her horse toward to gate and spurred it on. They needed to cover as much ground as they could while it was still early, they needed to put time between them and Winterfell. She’d left Arya a note, at least somebody would know that she had something to do. Squeezing her mount firmly between her legs, Sansa pushed her to cover ground.

_ ‘God’s be good. At least she’s a good rider.’  _ Sandor pressed Stranger in a bid to keep up with Sansa. Her horse was quick and the pair knew each other well. ‘ _ In the worst case she could outride any cocksucker on the road.’  _ He hoped he wouldn’t have to revert to a plan B on this trip, that it would be as straightforward as the his little bird has presented it. But experience told him otherwise. Shit always happened, it was just a matter of when.

The sun was already in the sky when Sansa pulled her horse off the road so that she could take a break and get a drink. She lead the horse to the stream and patted her gently as the Hound arrived.

“Where in the seven hells did you learn to ride like that?” he asked as he dismounted his horse and brought it to the water. He had a layer of sweat above his brow as he did so, an indication that she’d put him through his physical paces.

“My father taught me.” Sansa replied, unable to suppress the memory his words evoked. She’d enjoyed that time with her father, he’d taught her to love riding and horses. It didn’t matter how much time passed, it would always be difficult to remember such things.

Sandor walked over to her, taking her gently by the elbow to get her attention. “Do that again, and I’ll tie you to the back my horse for the rest of the trip.” His voice was low and promised action. Their faces were close, he could feel the warmth radiating from her. “The King’s road is more dangerous these days than in times past. We’d do well to stick together. Out here, I’m the Master, charged with your protection”

Sansa nodded her head and averted her eyes, “I understand.”

“Good.” He said, noticing the quiver in her body as he spoke to her. He couldn’t tell whether she was angry or electrified.

The sound of their horses broke their silence. They were nuzzling each other, their flirtation thick in the air. “Well at least some of us are getting along.” Sansa said as she moved out of his grasp.

There was a silent agreement that they would take it easy, neither they nor their horses could keep up that pace all day. Sansa waited patiently for her protector to bring his horse around. When they set off it was at a medium trot, and side by side.

“So what’s our story?” Sandor asked. The road was quiet and they needed to set the groundwork of their journey.

“Story?” Sansa asked, clearly confused as to his question.

“Oh you know a story. Who are we? Why are we traveling together? The basics.” The Hound did his best to keep his annoyance at bay.

Sansa was flustered at his questions. She hadn’t thought of such things, she’d been too focused on the outcome, the goal of the whole thing.”I...uh...I thought you would just take care of it.”

“LIke how? With my bloody sword?” At this Sandor stopped his horse and turned his face to look at her straight on. “Did you really think that if anybody asked us questions I’d just lob their heads off?

The look on Sansa’s face was all the answer he needed.

At this Sandor laughed and shook his head. “Oh, that’s rich princess. Can’t go stalking around the countryside cutting people down without getting noticed.” He could she her cheeks turning red with a bit of anger, it made him grin to himself. He liked her spirit, liked a little bit of anger in his women, it make the sex all that much better. Sandor decided to push a little more, “Sometimes violence isn’t always the best way to resolve a conflict, my lady.”

“What would you suggest then?” Sansa asked haughtily as she spurred her mare on.

“Anything.” He replied, “Anything but the truth.”

Sansa was cursing him under her breath, “Married couple, on their way to visit family in the Fingers?” She offered.

The Hound snorted, “That’s almost as unbelievable as a Lannister man escorting the Lady of Winterfell to the Vale.”

“How so?” Her question was genuine.  _ ‘Isn’t that what married couples do?’  _ she thought to herself.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” There was exasperation in his voice, as if it were so obvious it was right under her nose. The fact that she nodded just continuing his torture only fueled his anger. “Look at me, look at my fucking face. Do you think anyone is going to believe you married me for the conversation?” Sandor couldn’t tell if his sarcasm had gained the intended outcome, her eyes were almost unreadable. The set in her jaw could have hinted at displeasure or anger, both seemed equally likely.

‘ _ They might believe she married me for other things.’  _ The thought lingered in his mind as they trotted along the road, now filling up with peasants and merchants on their ways. The Gods had not always been kind to him, but they had endowed him with a sexual prowess few could match.

HIs words had been strikingly honest, bringing the point home to Sansa. She knew why he was so angry now, why his demeanor had changed in a split second. It had been so easy to forget the first time she had laid eyes on the Hound, the first time she had seen his face. He had frightened her, he had made her feel ill ….she had despised him just because he was ugly. She had “loved” Joffery just based on his youth and beauty.  _ ‘Does he still think I’m so self centered?’  _ Sansa wondered.

“I don’t care what they think.” She said suddenly. “It’s nobody’s business why we’re married and for what reason. But given that you are so opposed to it, I’ll just go along with whatever you say.” Sansa was upset at his words and what they meant, what they implied. She couldn’t help but say one last thing, “It’s not easy having everybody think you are beautiful.”

At this the Hound rolled his eyes and grunted.

The anger rising in her blood Sansa continued, “To have everybody look at you and want to take from you. It would be so much easier if I were plain. Then I wouldn’t have to worry if a man was interested in me for who I am, not how I look on his arm.” She paused, thinking back on her rather short childhood, “You know I envy you. Your birthright doesn’t bestow too much duty upon you, it does not burden you as mine does. Your face,” she paused, “at least you know when a woman loves you.”

The Hound did not respond to her words, which angered her even more. She sped her mount up, so that she would be slightly in front and not to his side, where she could see, hear or smell him. Sansa didn’t care to hide her temper now, on the road with small folk doing about their business.

Sandor was so preoccupied with the whole situation, his own anger and what was going on, that he didn’t notice a small band of men passing them. They eyed Sansa, knowing that she could not hide her place in society, no matter how she dressed. They eyed her knowing that desperate times called for desperate actions, and a girl like this could bring some money in their pocket. They watched her, they knew what to do, and they turned around to follow her.

* * *

 

As the day turned toward evening, Sandor couldn’t help but answer the call of nature. It had been a long day, they needed to stretch their legs and find a place to camp. There was no indication of an inn around, so he wagered they would have to sleep rough. Sansa had not spoken to him since their little spat earlier in the day, and it was eating at him. He was usually one for silence, but this time was different. He couldn’t suppress the urge that had taken him when they agreed to his journey at the stables in Winterfell. The urge to be close to her, to understand her better, even get to know her. So much had changed since they had seen one another last, that he had held out a perverse and highly unlikely hope that she would open up to him. They had so much restricting them during their time in King’s Landing, here they had nothing except themselves.

“Let’s stop here, I need to stretch my legs.” Sandor said as they came to a bend in the road with a tall grass on the left and thick woods to the right.

Sansa nodded and took her horse off the road at the bend, following him. She couldn’t very well be mad at Sandor forever, and yet he’d hit a nerve. She realized a lot of things about him, but also about her own person that made her sad. So she hadn’t been much for talking, more reflecting. She watched him dismount and move his horse over, then look around as if he were trying to find something. Sansa cocked her head to the side wondering what on earth he could be doing.

Noticing that she was keeping him in a rather intense stare, Sandor turned to her, “I’m going to the little knight’s room, some privacy if you don’t mind?”

She merely shook her head and rolled her eyes. ‘ _ Does he really need to be sarcastic all the time?’ _

At this she turned, obeying his orders and immediately saw some mushrooms growing on the border of the grass and trees, toward the forest. She knew these mushrooms, and began to collect them. Any additional things to eat would help them as they continued the next two or three days to their destination. It was also a way to move a bit, keep her legs from seizing up after a long day of riding.

It was very much the season for these mushrooms, it was clear from their abundance. Sansa used a bit of her cloak to keep the mushrooms as she continued on through the woods, losing track of where she was and time. It wasn’t too long before she had gone so deep into the forest that she couldn’t see the road anymore, it was then that a slow lingering fear set in. The sound of rustling and footsteps cemented that fear and when she turned around, she was faced with three armed men.

“Well hello there poppet.” Said a particularly dingy man with missing teeth and a battle axe at his side. “Lost your way?”

The sadistic way he tilted his head to the side to look at her, they way his eyes took her in, it made Sansa flush red with anger. She knew that stare and she knew that way - she’d be damned if she would let it happen to her again. His two comrades one with a knife and one with a sword, formed a circle around her filled with sheepish grins.

“Actually no.” She said trying to push her way out of the ring of men around her.

Stepping in front of ther the dingy man continued, “What’s a high born pretty girl like you doing with a brute like that? He your husband?” He showed a toothy grin.

“Bet he’s got a big cock.” One of the other men piped up, but the dingy man shot him down with a look.

Knowing she needed to leave soon, or at the very least buy some time so Sandor could find her she spoke, “My husband will be looking for me now, I should have already returned. Let me pass, and I won’t tell him about our little encounter.”

The men laughed, “Oh I don’t think that’s going to happen poppett.” The dingy man leaned in and pulled a piece of her renegade hair to his nose, savoring its scent before continuing, “You see, I think your man would pay a lot of money to have you safe and back. If not him then your rich daddy. So you ain't goin’ nowhere.” The men began to laugh.

There was an edge to his voice, something that hinted at a man constantly on the cusp of violence. One who wouldn’t hesitate to slash her throat if it meant saving his own skin or serving some sick pleasure from it. In these moments you couldn’t dwell on what you would do next, the luxury of time was something one could not engage in. So Sansa did what she thought necessary, she dropped the bunch of mushrooms in her hands and took advantage of their prolonged moment of ease to run. She took off, as fast as her long legs could carry her, hoping that her instincts were carrying her in the right direction.

The men were so shocked by what she had done, and so weighed down by their weapons, that they were slower to come after her. The trees were thick in the woods and night was beginning to fall. She knew she had a chance, albeit a small one. Every ounce of her being had to fight against to urge to scream out Sandor’s name, call him to her side and, in so doing, give away her position. Moving with the quickness of a wolf and the wit of a fox she did her best to keep out of sight, using big trees to hide behind.

“Come out come out girl! There’s wolves out here in the night, big strong man eaters.” Came the sickening playful voice of the dingy man.

Sansa could hear his footsteps, she could hear the footsteps of the others as well, pushing through the fallen leaves, rustling in the ever increasing darkness. Doing her best not to tremble, Sansa made her way to another large tree, it was then she was grabbed. With one hand over her mouth and the other around her waist, only a muffled cry escaped her lips as she was pulled into Sandor Clegane’s chest.

When his eyes met Sansa’s he could see a real sense of relief. Pressing his fingers to his lips, then grabbing his sword, he kept her close. He didn’t think it possible for one girl to get into so much trouble in such a small time, but here they were fighting off bandits in the woods. ‘ _ A dog fears no rat.’  _ He said to himself as he listened to the foot falls and waited.

It hadn’t taken him too long to realize she had lost her way in the woods. To say he was totally pissed for having her waste his time would have been an understatement, but as he had begun to pick up on the footsteps of others in the woods his instincts had kicked in. He could hear the men calling out, he could hear her footfalls coming his way, he could smell her scent creep into his highly tuned nose. He was a hound on the hunt and nothing anyone could have done would have kept him from his prize. Sandor would kill these men for threatening her, he would show them no mercy.

In a flash he moved his sword from his side to just below his shoulder, there was a loud gasp and one of the men’s heads came off. The sound it made when it hit the ground was loud enough to make the dingy man call out through the growing darkness of the woods, “Carl?”

Sansa didn’t turn away as the man’s body fell to the ground, gasping for and pumping out the last bit of life from his body. He’d never stood a chance against the Hound, his knife against Sandor’s sword would have been useless. Nevertheless she took his knife from the ground and tucked it away at her side. It was clear she’d need some means of protecting herself, she would have to learn how to use it.

A tug at her arm jolted her out of her thoughts. Sandor motioned for Sansa to follow him through the thick trees and the undergrowth. Following them was the ever louder, ever more desperate sound of Carl’s comrades. They’d found his body now, there would be blood. “When we find you and that big man of your’s poppet, we’re going to slit you from that sweet fire cunt to your throat!”

It was all the Hound could do to not give into his rage. Assholes like this deserved long slow deaths and it pissed him off that he wouldn’t have the time to enjoy it fully, the act of killing this man. “Get down and stay here.” he directed Sansa, pointing to some fallen trees that provided a bit of cover. He’d killed one of their pack, he knew these men would hunt them until they found them. He would deal with them now, and forever.

Sandor committed the place he had left Sansa to memory and ran to put distance between himself and his ward before yelling, “Come and get me you sorry fucks!”

It didn’t take long for the cunt with the sword to find him. Their blades met, the sound of metal on metal rang out through the forest. Sandor could see his opponent was not as comfortable swinging a sword as he should be,  _ ‘Probably picked it off some sorry dead son of a bitch.’  _ he mused as he parried, dodged and launched his counter attack. Sandor’s opponent was failing under the strength of his blows, backing up, barely hanging on. Closing the distance with the speed of mountain lion, the hound could feel his blade make contact, entering the man under the rib cage and slicing him through to his opposite shoulder. A satisfied feeling washed over him to see the man’s insides, to be reminded that these men were flesh and blood like any other.

Though Sandor did not have time to relish these thoughts, “Hey you piece of shit, lookie what I got here!”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Sandor Clegane turned to face his third and final opponent. Before he even caught sight of the man in his peripheral vision, he knew his opponent was not alone. The sound of another pair of footsteps amongst the fallen leaves were all he needed to hear to know he’d found Sansa. He hated this man for wanting to use her, wanting to harm her. He hated this man for how close he pressed Sansa’s body against his own disgustingly dirty one, he then smelled her hair and flicked his tongue out teasingly toward the Hound.

They were at a kind of stalemate and Sansa knew it. The dingy man held the large battle axe to her throat, though she didn’t know for how much longer he could keep it steady. He reeked of horse manure and she hated how his hands felt against her body. When she looked toward Sandor, the twilight leaving only a small hint of light in the forest, she could not detect any panic in his eyes. He had both hands on his sword, blood across his leather armor and face, his jaw was set with determination and Sansa couldn't help but admire, no lust after the warrior before her. She hated the cliche of it all, yet Sandor Clegane was no knight, though he fought with the power and honor of ten.

The dingy man was jerking his body around, screaming, “You killed my friends you son of a bitch. I’m gonna slit her throat, I’m gonna spill her blood all over the fucking floor.” Sandor was waiting, hoping for a moment to present itself, in which he could strike. Time was short, this sorry fuck was unpredictable and that meant he needed to act fast.

The moment came not quite as Sandor would have envisioned it. The man’s strength wavered under the heaviness of his axe, as he loosened his grip on Sansa to steady the weapon, she pulled a knife from her side and stabbed him in the arm. The man’s scream rang through the trees as Sansa seized on the moment to put some distance between her throat and the axe blade. She wasn’t quite quick enough, the dingy man made a grab at her, catching a bit of her cloak in his hand, pulling the axe high in the air.

His heart skipping a beat, Sandor moved in for the kill, drilling the man right through the stomach and nailing him to the ground. He twisted the sword in the man’s innards, making sure there was no chance for him to recover from the blow.

Sansa had fallen to the floor, pulled down by the dingy man, her life in his hands. Now he lay there gurgling, spitting blood out of his mouth his eyes looking up at the sky. She hated this man, she hated him for wanting to hurt her, to hurt Sandor. She didn’t care if he was going to die, she wanted him to hurt and she wanted him to feel pain. Grabbing the knife from the forest floor, she made a move toward the dying man, only to be embraced by a pair of large and familiar forearms.

Sandor had seen the rage in her eye, the hatred as it ran through her body and wrapped his lady in an embrace. She was angry, she needed an outlet and putting blood on her hands now would only make her regret it in the morning. She strained against his strength, gripping his forearms to her and screaming. At this he pulled her tighter to his body, not caring where or how she held the knife in her hand, “Hush now sweet girl. Hush.”

He took in the smell of her hair, the weight of her body against his own. Sandor was overcome by the desire to soothe her, “You keep a rage like that in you, and it’ll kill ya. Trust me.” He whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. They fell to their knees near the dying man and Sansa twisted in Sandor’s arms as the man’s life left him. She didn’t cry but she heaved, the emotions of the moment were strong and visceral. He could feel her heart beating against his arms, he’d never been so close to her before. So close he could feel her heart, smell her hair, cup her with his body. Sandor had always kept a distance, knowing his own weaknesses as a man and knowing that in King’s Landing he would be beheaded or worse for even touching her. Things were so different now, they were alone in the woods, with only deadmen to watch their deeds. They were free.

Sansa gripped her protector’s arms to her body, clinging to them as her heart beat hard and fast, almost out of her chest. She’d wanted to rip the eyes out of the dingy man, rip this throat out, eviscerate him. The feeling had run through her body, forcing her to action. Yet Sandor’s arms had impeded her, the arms that thad moved so quickly to kill, had moved equally as fast wrap around her, soft and gentle. His words more comforting than he could know. She’d never known him like this at King’s Landing. He had always been dark, distant and gruff. Now all she could feel was his body heat and his strength, his gentleness slowly replacing her hatred and anger. She breathed deeply, turning her face to him.

Sandor took her chin with his thumb and finger, leveling her blue eyes with his brown ones. They searched each other in silence, finding a connection and a comfort normally forbidden to those of their varying social stations. It was he who broke their long silence, “The good thing about being as ugly as me is, nobody thinks about stealing you away.”

At this she laughed and some lone tears fell down her cheeks. His words brought the whole situation back into perspective, they were alive and these men could no longer harm them. They would continue their journey as if nothing had happened. For these men, the journey had ended. She was happy for that. Sighing Sansa stood up, dusting off her dirty riding pants and cloak.

“You might as well take that knife with you. He no longer has need of it.”

Sansa looked over at the knife, staring at it on the floor. Almost afraid to pick it back up again.

Sandor placed a hand on her shoulder, “You handled yourself well. I’ll show you how to use it.”

It was surprising how his deep voice soothed her worries. Sansa picked up the knife and Sandor handed over the holster for it, whilst picking through the pockets of the men.

“We’ll need to put some distance between them and us.” Sandor said matter of factly. “Best we camp on the ridge, the wolves will leave us alone then. They’ll have plenty to feed on tonight.”

Sansa nodded.

They walked their horses to the ridge. Sandor found a rabbit caught in a trap and promptly took it for their dinner. Even though their trip was just a few day’s ride, a little variety in the diet never hurt. As today had proven, one never knew what could happen on the road. Sandor and Sansa ate in silence, but it was not uncomfortable. Sandor enjoyed silence. Silence meant you could hear something coming, that you could better anticipate an attack. Silence heightened the senses and unlocked the imagination, particularly in the dark. He glanced at Sansa and could see she was exhausted. It had been a long day and a bit too eventful for either of their tastes.

They prepared their sleeping areas, she on one side of the fire and he on the other. Sansa couldn’t help but glance over as he removed his light armor. Sure he wasn’t showing skin like in the fighting yard the day before, but she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed watching how he moved his body. Her mind drifted back to his kiss in Winterfell. It had been wine induced, even a bit sloppy, but there had been a passion there that had taken her off guard. Then today how he had calmed her, it made Sansa wonder if he actually cared for her. She sincerely hoped he hadn’t just been doing his duty, that he had fought because he felt protective of her….or more.

She’d been looking at him long enough, Sandor began to wonder if she was afraid of sleeping alone. Surly that would make sense after what had happened today. As her look intensified and she struggled to put her light camp bedding in the proper way, he just said it, “It’s going to be cold tonight little bird. It would be best we sleep closer together, it’ll keep both of us from freezing.”

He had fully expected her to question his motives, look disgusted by the suggestion that they should sleep near one another. But she didn’t do that at all. She considered it only a short second before picking up her bedding and moving it right next to his, sides touching. Sandor threw a final log on the fire and laid down, pulling his cloak and a blanket over him. His travel companion scanned her options a moment, then, to his surprise, she snuck in under his blanket. Their bodies were touching, only some cloth and his sheer will stood between them.

Sansa smiled when she felt his body tense up as she slipped under the covers. It was amazing how a man who had no fear of battle, could feel so uncomfortable by her closeness. She was no longer the innocent young woman she had been while she was in the capital. Sansa knew what she was doing to him, knew that her actions could have repercussions. She hoped they would, but also knew that she might not be the kind of woman he fancied. While the Hound had always shown her professional kindness, he had never let on more than that. Not until recently anyway.

“Goodnight.” She said, her back to his chest staring sleepily into the fire.

Sandor only grunted in acknowledgement while he tried to find the best position to fall asleep in, and not actually touch her. Seeing this wasn’t possible he eventually gave in. Deep inside he knew she’d always get her way with him. It was a weakness he could not deny, though he wasn’t proud of it. Now, as he watched her breathing slow signaling sleep, he couldn’t help but lay a hand on her waist. At least he could pretend for one night that she was indeed his.


	4. In the Thick of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught in the middle of a battle on their way to the Vale, Sansa makes a choice that will save Sandor's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have a fifth chapter for this story after probably more than a year...it's almost finished -- so in celebration I will post chapter 4.
> 
> I hope you like it -- comments help me grow!

#  **Chapter 4: Caught in the Thick of It**

**Sandor**

Her hand had come to rest on Sandor’s chest, leaving a warm spot he could still feel as he took a long and much needed piss behind a tree. He should have gone earlier but it had been so comfortable tangled up in her arms and legs, that Sandor Clegane could not bring himself to stirr Sansa Stark from sleep. He glanced over from behind the tree to make sure she hadn’t gotten herself into trouble. Given what had happened the night before, he’d be a fool to take any more chances. Luckily, in the 60 seconds that had passed, she had indeed managed to stay safe.

_ ‘Thank the gods for small fucking favors.’ _ He mused, giving his cock a good shake before placing it back in his trousers.

She had taken a moment to pull that mystery letter out of her saddle bag, confirm it was ok and then slip it back in there. He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to find out what was in that bloody thing.

Sansa smiled when he approached her, handing her a piece of salted beef and a portion of bread for her breakfast. She could have been smiling at the food, but he hoped in his gut she’d been smiling at him. He didn’t have time to ponder this thought, the sun was coming up and they needed to get a move on.

He watched her pack her things up quickly and silently, trying to understand what would drive her to this. She’d been safe in Winterfell, protected. Now they were exposed and entering into dangerous territory. He had neglected to tell her that this was still disputed territory between the the hill tribes and the Eire, there were skirmishes in this region and that made this part of their journey a bit more dangerous than the other parts.

Spurring his horse Sandor lead the way back to the trail, Sansa in tow. They spoke very little as the sun rose in the east. While this would normally not have bothered Sandor in the least, he wondered how comfortable she felt with it. Knowing how much she liked to chirp her pleasantries and engage in conversation. ‘ _ But she’s different now. Changed by war, rape and murder.’ _

She was lost in some kind of thought when Sandor peered out of the bad side of his face to take a look at her. Then it just bubbled to the surface, “So is it true what they say in the beer halls and taverns?”

This seemed to bring her back to reality as she turned her stunning face to him, her blue eyes suddenly filled with curiosity, “And what do they say in these bars and taverns you frequent?”

Sandor slowed his horse so that they were side by side, “That the Lady of Winterfell is as beautiful as she is deadly.”

He watched her expression change to something that could have passed for coy, a flush roared up from her neck to her cheeks.  _ ‘Never hard to make a red head blush.’  _ Sandor mused.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I take joy in killing, nor that I did it by my own hand.” Her eyes searched his a moment, a slight smile on her face.

Sandor remembered this conversation they had had before at King’s Landing. Where he had spoken to her of how much he enjoyed taking men’s lives. He’d saved her from debasement that afternoon, debasement at the hands of rats, only to save her for debasement by a fucked up, sick, bastard Lordling. What was the difference in the end?

“But,” she began again, a slight twinkle in her eye as she continued, “I can’t deny that feeding Ramsey to his own dogs didn’t sate my revenge. I was glad that he suffered, glad that dogs go for the belly first, dragging it out as long as possible.”

A smile danced across Sandor’s damaged lips. His family had raised dogs, been the kennel masters for many a high lord. He knew the animals well, knew that when they were hungry their only master was their own instincts to feed. There was a poetic justice in having her feed that bastard to the dogs, it was like she had fed them to him, the Hound.

“Aye.” Was his only response, their eyes met for a moment and something passed between them that could have been a flicker of sexual excitement.

Blushing again, Sansa broke their stare looking forward in the direction they were traveling. “Lord Baelish on the other hand, that was something different.”

“He always seemed like a self absorbed cunt to me.” Sandor said gruffly. He’d hated the man and his plots. Intrigue, lies, poison were the weapons of women. Not to say they weren’t good or effective, but they were the weapons of a person not able to defend themselves. Littlefinger had been small in stature, but a coward nonetheless.

“I do believe he loved my mother in his twisted way. But he left a trail of corpses and devastation in his wake to get her, then when she wasn’t an option, to take me.” She looked at him again, it was a similar look to what she had given him in the training yard. A hungry look, an appraising look, sizing him up for something.

Sansa continued, “I’ll always regret not going with you when you asked me to, during the Battle of the Blackwater. I was a fool then, I had a misplaced understanding of honor. While Lord Baelish may never have touched me, never have taken what I was lead to believe the most precious thing I had to offer was. He stole so much more from me, used me like a pawn, sold me like prized horse. He defilied me and my family in ways Ramsey could never have dreamed of.” A tear threatened to spill over the cusp of her lower lid. 

A long suppressed feeling welled up inside Sandor as he heard those words. She’d driven him to drink after her rejection in King’s Landing, drove him to kill. To say he’d been angry that she had not trusted him enough to leave her captors, her abusers, would have been an understatement. It had taken him years to forget it, many nights alone thinking of her, wondering where she was, to understand why she had done it. Now, to hear her say that to him, to apologize for this one moment, released him from this grudge he felt for her. Sandor had always been used to punching, hacking and smashing his way through people and feelings. But these words, made everything he had felt for her, held against her all these years, melt away. Leaving him oddly vulnerable to her deep stare.

“I always did what duty required of me, or what I was told by others that duty required of me. But what I began to realize is, there is often a huge difference between duty and will, Clegane. What I really desire is often different …”

She wanted to say more but then she stopped. Not sure how to continue, but leaving Sandor with the feeling that she wanted  _ him _ . It was as strong as in the training yard or even stronger. The sound of a twig breaking turned his focus from his companion to the ridge above them.  Sandor pulled his sword as he peered above them.

_ ‘Fuck.’ _ Was the only word he was capable of thinking. The tribes had spotted them, and they weren’t in an accommodating mood. The Vale had riled them up as of late, trying to bring them inline before hopefully heading north to fight against the army of the dead.

“Stay close.” Sandor whispered. One hill tribe observer was one thing, a whole army of those bastards was something completely different.

Sandor’s gut instinct was that they had probably been followed for a while and that, by the simple fact that they were headed to the Vale, they were targets. Stranger flicked his tale and shook his head nervously, Sandor knew it was an indication of impending attack. The horse knew battle well, knew the smell of men before any human could identify it. The woods seem to instantly darken around them, though it was still not quite midday. The smell of the damp earth permeated the air, making it difficult to identify anything else by scent.

The sudden clang of steel and the yells of men were unmistakable, they had come upon an ambush, he and Sansa were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They topped the small hill before he heard it and looking down he could see Vale soldiers mixed in with hill tribe warriors. Looking at Sansa he made a motion they turn around before they were discovered by more than one or two of the tribe’s scouts. But as they turned they could see some mounted men in hill tribe fashion making their way toward them, their pace the unmistakable pace of war.

Looking up into the sky to locate the sun Sandor turned to Sansa, “Follow the sun west, in that direction. Don’t turn around and don’t come back for me. We aren’t far now from the Vale, you can make it on your own if you must.”

She was clearly distressed as a weak, “But…” escaped her lips.

“Don’t argue with me girl, just run!” Sandor’s eyes lingered on her one last time before he spurred Stranger toward the mounted men approaching them.

* * *

 

**Sansa**

Fighting back tears, Sansa spurred her horse in the direction Sandor had indicated. Her horse was like the wind, flying over fallen logs and wet dirt. Kicking up muck in her wake, Sansa cursed herself for putting them in so much danger, for bringing him out here.

_ ‘I’m so stupid.’  _ she lamented as she rode fast, tears falling from her eyes.

It was impossible to escape the sounds of war now, the battle had intensified, the screams louder and more desperate. She needed to escape, she needed to flee  _ ‘But to where?’ _

She had hired Sandor to be her protector, to ensure she made it to the Vale safely. But she had not wanted this, she had just wanted to be alone with him to have him share in her final victory over Littlefinger, to be there when she tasted true freedom for the first time. She’d been selfish, wanting him all to herself, to lay near him at night. Now, her selfishness was going to get him killed.

“No.” She said as she pulled the reigns of her filly and turned the horse around. “I won’t leave him like this.”

Her tears gave way to determination, her weakness to the fierce strength of a wolf. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she and her horse ran toward the fog of war, the utter chaos that was unfolding in the woods.

Sansa rode past some dead men and some scared horses, ‘ _ The men that were approaching us.’  _ It seemed the Hound had made quick work of them.

Sansa sat up in her saddle trying to see if she could spot Sandor, he was a giant among men, difficult to mistake for anybody else. ‘ _ There.’ _

In the distance she saw him, on his feet and crossing swords with a soldier of the Vale. He’d been unhorsed and injured, she could see blood coming from him as he continued his fight. Even at half his strength he was still intimidating, a force to be reckoned with. Fighting back the fear that was about to take her, Sansa spurred her horse ward the battle, knowing the way was clear behind her.

She cringed as the soldier took a swipe at the Hound and found flesh, blood appearing through the thin leather armor her protector was wearing. This seemed to antagonise Sandor further and, in a moment of pure madness berserker type anger, he sent his sword through the soldier. Gutting him as one would a deer, from stomach to neck.

“Sandor!” Sansa screamed, riding at a full gallop toward him, her hair flying furiously behind her. The look of surprise and relief that came to his face gave her the deep feeling that she had done the right thing. To leave him here in this condition would be to condemn him to death. He held his side in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding.

Moving forward in her saddle she reached out her hand to the severely injured man, “Get on.”

With the last of his strength, Sandor climbed onto the horse, slumping toward Sansa almost immediately. “Give me the reigns.” he ordered gruffly.

She turned to him, “Are you crazy?” She spurred the horse on and Sandor had to quickly grip her around the waist so as not to fall backward.

Her little filly could feel the extra weight on her and wasn’t pleased, screeching as she made for the direction from which Sansa had come. The horse was fit though, and able to keep the pace they needed.

A tribe’s man jumped out in front of them, his war cry startling Sansa. The horse kicked him, plowing him to the ground as she continued her labored run away from the violence. Sansa was gripping the reins so hard her hands were hurting. She could feel Sandor’s body slumping around her as he slowly lost consciousness.

_ ‘What if he’s dying?’ _ she feared.  _ ‘I have to get us to a safe place.’ _

Leaving the violence behind Sansa rode through the forest at a desperate pace, the smell of her horse’s sweat heavy in her nose. Fear of another ambush or bandits made her shake as she kept her eyes open for anything helpful. The sun was setting and the wind was picking up, if they stayed a night out in the forest Sandor would most surely die.

There was some smoke in the distance, ‘ _ A cook fire perhaps.’ _

Turning her horse in that direction, Sansa rode for the smoke as fast as her poor horse could. It was a farmhouse,  _ ‘Oh thank the Seven.’ _

They couldn’t have reached the small house with a barn to the side of it fast enough. Sansa slipped off her horse and hit the ground hard, Sandor fell over, his face weighing heavily on the horse’s neck. He was still breathing.

Disheveled, scared and high on adrenaline from the fight she burst through the farmhouse door, “Can somebody help me? My husband is dying!”

There was fear in her eyes and desperation in her face as Sansa observed the shocked family eating dinner before her. Not knowing what they would do next.


	5. A Sight for Sore Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa does her best to patch up Sandor, but ends up alienating him instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy to get another chapter of this story out. I think it's been like a year since I started writing it or longer and ....yeah it has been left hanging for a while. So whoot whoot! Happy about that.
> 
> One more chapter where we figure out what's in the letter.....and we get to have a sexy ending....as usual :-)

#  **Chapter 5:  A Sight for Sore Eyes**

##  **Sansa**

Nobody made a move, as if they were frozen to their seats. Sansa scanned the simple, one room farmhouse for a sympathetic face. The family was in the middle of dinner, a meager table of soup and stale bread. Most of them had been mid-bite as she rushed through the door, weathered, scared and begging for help. The mother looked frightened, shaking her head and moving her hands so as to shew Sansa from her home. Sansa knew the penalty in the Vale for harboring fugitives well, it was death, which was why the farm woman wanted no part of them. The two boys, strapping young lads, sat there staring at her blankly, so Sansa pleaded to the father. She ripped her hood from her head so they could see she was no bandit.

“Please, we don’t have much time!” She heard a quiver in her voice she had not anticipated, she was on the verge of tears, fighting them tooth and nail against the drops that threatened to spill over onto her cheeks.

The father of the family studied her a moment, she knew instantly he was from the Riverlands. It was something about his blue eyes and his ‘look’ that reminded her of her mother’s homeland. The way he looked at her that made her think he recognized her also as such.

“Come Matilda, let’s get her some water, food and supplies.” He said to his wife, who begrudgingly got up from the table to collect some things. He turned then to Sansa, “We can put you in the barn, but you have to stay quiet.”

Sansa rushed to him putting a golden dragon in his hand, “I’ll need gut, a needle and some whiskey in addition to that. I hope this covers it.”

The look in his eye was all the answer she needed. The boys followed her outside as the wind and the rain started to pick-up. For as big as their two sons were, they struggled to take Sandor from her horse, his large body hit the dirt with a sickening thud. The mare seemed delighted by these developments as Sansa lead her in behind the two farm boys. The boys did their best to keep Sandor’s body off the ground so as not to aggravate any injuries -- though Sansa still feared they would make it worse somehow. The barn was an oddly quiet place, the animals were either nonexistent, out to another pasture or dead. There had been a drought, so who knew how desperate the family was for food and money. 

The emptiness of the barn gave them space with a large heating stove in the corner, a small chair and some hay -- a place meant for people to sleep. Probably when a horse or a cow was giving birth, or to sleep off a rough night.  _ ‘This will do.’ _ Sansa told herself, doing her best to fight the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. 

Running in front of the boys, Sansa put her cloak over the straw for them to place Sandor’s body on. “Should a huge black courser without a rider come through, bring him to the barn. He belongs to us.” The boys nodded, dropping Sandor on the hay and exiting as quickly as they had come.

Sansa knelt down and put her fingers to Sandor’s pulse,  _ ‘It’s not too late. _ ’ She thought to herself reassuringly as she began to remove his armor from his massive body.

He was such a bloody, slashed up mess, it was hard for Sansa to know where the blood was even coming from and how large his wounds actually were. It was also hard not to be sick at the sight, not just the blood but also at the thought of what the blood could mean. Sansa was no Maester, though she had grown up her whole life around one. She had been taught to mend people and help heal them, but she also knew there was only so much even a trained person could do.

“Please let him live.” Were the only words to escape her mouth -- her tiny prayer to any god who would listen -- as the barn door opened again, with Matilda and her husband bringing the last of the supplies.

The look on the woman’s face made it clear to Sansa that she didn’t like this one bit. She could not blame the family for being cautious, and could not thank them more for being generous – even if there was a reluctance to it.

Testing the temperature of the bucket of water with her finger, Sansa brought it over to the fire to warm up a bit. Then she laid out the meager instruments she had at her disposal. A needle, some gut, clean rags, a bottle of whiskey and her own clothing.

_ ‘It’s only slightly better than nothing.’  _ There wasn’t a lot of confidence in her innermost voice, but she would have to try something.

Fumbling with the latches of his light armor, she managed to work it off his body with relative ease. His tunic was red with his own blood, a slashed up mess. Swallowing hard, Sansa ripped the piece of cloth off of Sandor, exposing his upper body -- his wounds more visible to the eye. Taking the warmer water Sansa poured it over Sandor’s torso, so she could take stock of his condition. Most of his wounds were fairly superficial, with one on his forehead and some across his chest and arms. There was one wound that looked more serious, and had to be the reason he had lost so much blood. Her hand shook as she stuck a finger in the bloody opening, checking for bone or any other thing that might have been out of place. 

After fighting not to throw up right on her own patient, Sansa moved her finger around a little more – it was hard to tell if there was anything out of place. There was nothing hard, like bone, in there – everything was soft and smooth – seemingly untouched by the sword that had pierced him. Taking the whiskey bottle from the floor and holding the cork in her mouth, she pulled it open and sloshed the liquid over his wounds, paying special attention to the deepest one. Maester Luwin had told her once that cleaning wounds with this kind of alcohol seemed to increase the chances of recovery – the thing she was most desperate for.

A sarcastic laugh escaped her lips as she began threading the gut and sewing Sandor’s lacerations. Needlepoint had always been her favorite pastime as a girl – mostly because she had been so much better than anybody else. Dutifully she closed his battle wounds into neat straight lines – starting with the most serious one and moving her way up his chest. At some point she stopped, leaving the deep cut on his head for later. Her eyes were blurring in the dim light, her strength was failing her – the adrenaline that had been coursing through her body now leaving it. Sitting back from the Hound she looked him over, satisfied that she had done the best job she possibly could. Her clothing was covered in blood, her hands as well. Removing them, she went to the bucket and began to wash her face and hands – dipping her clothes there to wash them as best she could. There was no better way to describe her current state than pure and utter exhaustion in every sense. She took a fresh tunic out of her saddle bag and threw it on, not caring that it only covered to just below her bum or that it was practically see-through. She had other things to concern herself with, like the Hound’s raging fever and hoping beyond hope that she would be able to save his life. Lifting his head gently, she put it on her lap and leaned herself in a corner against the wall. If he were to wake, she would be there to tend to him. As for now, she would need sleep.

* * *

 

##  **Sandor**

Waking slowly the first thing Sandor realized was that he was alive, the next thing was that he hurt all over. Exhaling deeply he tried to mentally prepare himself for what he might find. He had been lucky as far as warriors went, never having lost a limb in battle -- but that didn’t mean that luck couldn’t suddenly run out. What he could recall, as he wiggled his fingers and toes -- a satisfied feeling rushing over him -- was that she’d come for him, got him on her horse and ran. 

 

“Fuuuuck!” He groaned as the realization came over him that he may not have fulfilled his promise to her. If she had perished in that battle he would have to live with it for the rest of his life, and that was not a good prospect, even for a heartless dog like him.

 

A hand gently caressed his face, which brought Sandor out of his angry monologue and back into reality, his eyes slowly fluttering open. What met his eyes wasn’t exactly what he had expected and he couldn’t be quite sure he wasn’t actually dead either. The underside of an ample set of breasts greeted him, though a thin white shirt covered them, the dim candle light and Sandor’s perspective meant he could see everything from their rounded curves to their perky pink nipples. 

 

Taking his time to enjoy the sight before him, it took another gentle caress before he looked past them and to the face of the woman in whose lap his head was currently placed.

 

“Sansa?” He hadn’t intended on asking it, more stating it. But, to be fair, it did explain his feelings at the moment. The disbelief that they were somewhere, away from the fighting and both safe. She was a sight for sore eyes -- of that he he was certain.

 

She smiled at his words, relief flooding her features, “You’re alright, everything is ok.”

 

Moving slightly, a pain in his side shot through his body and he grabbed it with his hand wheezing in agony. “Be careful not to tear your stitches now.” She ordered helping him sit up, his back against a wall. 

 

They were in a barn, that much was clear. The room was warm and cozy and smelled of hay and horses. She’d made them a cute little nest there, moved the hay around and used her cloak and other clothing to separate them from the itchiness of the whole thing.

 

“Here.” She handed him a bottle of whiskey, already only half full, and sat on her knees near him. Observing him with a kind of motherly look that Sandor was not at all used to.

 

Taking a drink Sandor lifted his arms and looked at the side that hurt so much. There was a sizable gash there, bigger than any one he could remember. She’d sewn it up nice and tight, as straight as possible as if that had mattered so much to him. The main thing was she had seen to it, he’d seen men die for less -- she’d saved him.

 

“Little Bird…” He managed to eek out before she shushed him.

 

Her finger to his mouth and now straddling him in nothing more than her underwear and a loose fitting almost see through tunic, she sat on his lap examining his forehead. 

 

“I didn’t sew this one up because I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.” She was solemn in her assessment, but leaning toward him and examining a wound on his forehead with interest. 

 

_ ‘Gods she smells like green grass and salt. _ ’ He thought as her belly gently brushed against his bare chest, her breasts mere inches from his face -- teasing him through the thin fabric. If she knew what she was doing to him, she didn’t pay any mind as she took a rag and dabbed at his forehead. Then poured some whiskey on it and dabbed again.

 

He sucked in breath, inadvertantly pushing his face into her breasts at the pain of the alcohol on his face. Yet he  couldn’t help but nuzzle the full orbs in front of him, as if he were a babe in need of sustenance. He was getting hard under his britches and when she sat back down on his lap she’d be in for a surprise. Smirking at the thought, Sandor remained as still as possible as she took a needle and some gut and began sewing his final wound shut. 

 

It was cute how she bit her bottom lip slightly as she concentrated on stitching him back together. _ ‘She cares for me.’ _ He finally realized.

 

Nobody had gone through so much trouble to patch him up, only Maesters who had sworn themselves to it. Only his mother had cared for him to that extent, nursed him back to health after what Gregor had done to him. That had been the last time he’d had a tender touch -- until now.

 

Sansa pulled her head back slightly to admire her work, but before she could finish he had taken her by the hips and pulled her down onto his lap -- his manhood unmistakably pressing against her inner thigh. While she was surprised by his speed she didn’t seem to mind his forwardness, her hands automatically coming to his chest to steady herself. Sandor couldn’t hide that he wanted her, not in his eyes and certainly not in what was forming between his legs. He was laid bare, vulnerable -- in need.

 

As their lips met, he threaded on hand into her hair, the other guided her lower back so as to drag her body up and down his steel length. She wasn’t refusing him, as a matter of fact she was deepening her kiss, moaning into his mouth, gasping for short brief bits of air before returning to his lips. Perhaps the way she had looked at him in the training yard a few days ago would have clued him into the fact that she desired him as more than just a sword to protect her on this journey. But Sandor had never been good at those kinds of things, particularly when it came to women. 

 

Whatever had spurred on her reaction, Sandor would be sure to ride it out to completion if he could. His hands reaching under her shirt to clench her bare little tits in his hands and rub his thumbs over her stiffened nipples. She had nice full breasts, she’d become one hell of a woman since she had fled King’s Landing that had to be said. He had to bite a bit through the pain as Sansa shifted over him, if she didn’t want him to bust through his stitches this was certainly not the right way to go about it.

 

There was a wantonness to the way she slid her hips over his cock, something he had always hoped she would. Even his dreams could not have prepared him for the way it would really feel, his cock having worked its way out of his trousers, seemingly of its own accord. Now there was only the thin fabric of her small clothes that separated them -- her wetness was warm and thick -- it matched the desire in her kisses. 

 

_ ‘Perhaps all this trouble was worth it after all.’ _ He thought to himself, her little aroused moans making him want to bury himself deep inside of her warm and welcoming heat.

 

Suddenly she pulled away from him, using her forearms against his chest to create some space between them. She was flushed, you could tell even in the dim light of the barn, her breathing unsteady. There was a sadness in her eyes that Sandor couldn’t quite place. 

 

“Please Sandor, I can’t.” She breathed, almost ashamed to say it. Her eyes flickered to her saddlebags on her mare, then back to him.

 

Moving his hands over her bum, Sandor brought her to rest on his lap -- feeling her heat even more acutely on his throbbing manhood. “You can’t or you won’t?” He asked, hoping he could capitalize on her arousal to change her mind. 

 

“I can’t.” She answered, turning her head toward the floor, so as not to look at him. 

 

Something was holding her back, keeping her from what she really wanted to do. “What’s in that letter Sansa? You keep looking over at where it is. What could it possibly have to do with this?”

 

His words and tone were harsh, angry at the fact that she just wouldn’t let go that she seemed bound to some piece of paper with scribble on it. 

 

Tears began to stream down her face as she searched for the right words. “A promise has been made and I...I...cannot just simply…even if I want...”

 

Sandor gave her a little shake so she would look at him, “I almost died protecting you and you won’t say anything more than that? Fuck your duty!”

 

There was no denying he was angry, that in this vulnerable moment Sandor felt both lovesick and a fool. Pushing her off of his lap Sandor got up and almost instantly regretted it, the stitches pulling and a bit of blood oozing from his wounds. He was in pain, but he’d survive all the same, he always did.

 

_ ‘Who am I kidding?’ _ He thought to himself as he grabbed his sword and made his wa to the barn door, shirtless with a storm raging outside. ‘ _ I’m just a dog to her, nothing more. I’d be a fool to think otherwise.’ _

 

That thought angered him even more. He’d endured much from her in King’s Landing, perhaps he was a fool to expect different from her. Sandor had to leave, he needed to clear his head, and save himself from any further embarrassment. He also needed to find his goddamn horse.

“Where are you going?” She asked through her strained tears.

 

“To figure out where the fuck we are so I can fulfill my promise to you and be done with it!” He snarled, not in the mood for her tears or her sadness. Taking one final look at her, Sandor walked out of the barn into the night and the storm -- leaving her to her sadness and her tears. 


End file.
